Materno amore
by wayward-tiger
Summary: <html><head></head>It makes him want to weep for loving the devil. It is his greatest shame. Part 5 in the 'Miserere mei, Deus' series. (MPREG)</html>


The bedroom seemed silent save for a muffled whimper followed by the soft chorus of hushed laughter that echoed from the far corner of the room. The peaceful atmosphere that Dean had been praying for all day had diminished within seconds once the sharp snap of bone accompanied with a blood-curdling cry rang through the air.

"Play nicely." Dean's voice sounded borderline annoyed as he calmly chided from his seat in the lounge chair, "You know how your father doesn't approve of messes."

"Yes, Mommy." Dual voices chimed together in harmony.

Dean couldn't help but cringe at the response.

Before speaking again, Dean sat quietly pondering while his gaze lowered on the offending weight settled in his lap, "Actually, he should be back any time now." Dean's tone carried false glee as he stroked his palms against his full distended belly, "Why don't you go clean yourselves for him?"

The next thing Dean heard was the melodious sound of small, pattering feet hurrying off to bathe. He sagged into the back of the chair and released an exhausted sigh. It had become a daunting and difficult task to play the happy mother and lover to a swarm of demonic beings, but Dean knew that he had to pull through for the sake of humanity. Or what remained of it.

Dean was left alone in the bedroom with only the company of the children's broken playthings. He waited until he heard the sound of running water before he rose to his feet and wandered over toward the play area to see what had been entertaining his offspring. He loathed having to discover what poor discarded, mangled creature the throne's servants had brought for his little beasts to mock and torment for the day.

He had already tried begging Sam to make the 'gifts' stop, but the king had insisted that it would act as good practice for their future as overseers of the rack. Regardless of his queen's pleas, the king had encouraged his minions to seek out the weak and bring them forth for proper punishment and anguish- anguish that would be divvied out by Hell's heirs. _And besides, wasn't it always polite to accept a gift; even if that gift was a bloodied, desperate soul still clinging to their last strands of hope?_

Dean was lost in quiet thought when the pads of his feet met the cool wet chill of freshly spilled blood puddled around his toes. Nonchalantly, he peered into the corner of the play area and looked down at the disarray that had been made. In the old days, Dean would have wanted to recoil at the first sight of what was before him, but now it had become so repetitious that it barely even phased him. It made him want to weep for how little these acts of gruesome horror shocked him. _Oh the wonders of motherhood._

He stared at the mutilated form before him. He couldn't tell how many bodies were laying on his floor. There were bones scattered and poking out in awkward angles, peeled flesh, and veins that were dissected and tied around and around like Christmas ribbons. Whatever it was that was sitting dead and on Dean's bedroom floor had the stench of fire and burnt meat, and there must've been a dozen eyeballs plucked from the sockets and gathered into a pile surrounded by a nest of messy bowels. It often unsettled Dean to know what his children were capable of.

"What a beautiful present for such a beautiful mommy." A deep husky voice tickled the back of Dean's neck, causing his skin to pebble with gooseflesh.

Barely startled, Dean turned around and was instantly met with the warm embrace of his king. With a practiced step, he tilted his head back ever so slightly and parted his lips, readily welcoming the hungry tongue that was already slipping out from between Sam's own mouth. While their lips were joined, Sam's hands wandered between them until he rested them over Dean's stomach. He smoothed his thumbs over the taut skin and Dean purred into Sam's mouth, filling the king with unbearable heat.

Sam rubbed his growing erection against the naked expanse of Dean's belly and growled, "Such a beautiful mother making me such beautiful babies."

Dean let Sam press against his body, but kept his attention focused on the disfigured thing still strewn about in the corner, "They need to stop," Dean pointed his finger toward the scene.

Sam glanced over and smiled like a damn fox, "They're getting better, don't you agree? Like John always said, 'practice makes perfect.'"

"Sam..." Dean breathed, feeling helpless. At the start he didn't want these children. Now that they've been born and laid in Dean's arms, he can't help but feel an overwhelming sense of love and protectiveness for them. He hates to admit it, but he loves these children that Sam has poisoned his body to conceive with all of his broken heart. If Dean is forced by some unknown power to care for these creatures, then he will beg for eternity to please let them be kind children and not the wicked horrors he knows them to be. It makes him want to weep for loving the devil- for loving something that cannot love. It is his greatest shame.

"They'll be ready soon, I'm sure. Just in time for this little one to start learning," Sam softly patted the side of Dean's stomach, completely ignoring Dean's words.

"Master, please," Dean sighed as he rested his hand atop Sam's, "Can we not have a monster in place of a child?"

"These monsters are our children, Dean," Sam held tightly onto Dean's wrist and lowered his head to stare into Dean's wide eyes, "Do you not love them as your children?"

Before Dean could answer, a door burst open, and with it the familiar sound of giggling rushed into the room. Two small bodies crowded into the space between Dean and Sam, jumping and pawing for the attention of their father, "Daddy, daddy!"

With strong arms, Sam lifted both toddlers into his arms and tenderly kissed them each on their rosy pink cheeks. As they sat in the crook of his elbows, Sam asked them, "Lamia, Haine, do you love your mother?"

Each tiny headed nodded furiously in unison, and Dean's heart burst with appreciation.

"Your mother loves you both." Sam's eyes bore into Dean's as he spoke to their children.

Dean stepped forward and let his fingers brush against the cherubic faces of his son and daughter. He turned away from the gruesome scene in the corner and let himself focus on the warmth and darkness of the toddlers' eyes as they stared up at him with an incomparable intensity.

With a small sigh and a soft kiss on each babe's forehead, Dean resigned himself to the knowledge that his life would continue on as it has been for the past several years. He would reluctantly carry on in his place as Hell's Queen Mother for as long as his heart still swelled with affection for his misshapen family. It ultimately did not matter whether he birthed devils or saints, he knew that he would love them with the same fervor regardless.

Lifting his gaze, Dean looked unyielding into his king's eyes, "I love my children more than you could ever know."


End file.
